Eddie babysits Theo one time—one time—and suddenly it's basketball this, basketball that; can we get a hoopy-thing for outside and when is Eddie coming back and why doesn’t he live here; things would be so much better if Eddie was here all the time.
Buck struggled to disagree with many of those points.
Did Buck try to distract Theo with dinosaurs and Hotwheels and whatever else he’s collected around Buck’s house after only a few months? Sure. He’s not too proud of it. Did Theo outsmart him every time by literally not letting go of his child-size nerf basketball for a week? Also yes. Buck’s not proud of that either.
The one unexpected benefit of this new obsession comes in the form of Buck lounging on his stoop, legs crossed in front of him receiving a tan from the overhead sun as he runs colorful commentary about the game at hand.
A plastic basketball hoop for toddlers is propped up at the end of the driveway. Eddie’s truck is parked in a way to block access to the street—though Theo has proven to be a master escape artist when he wants to.
Eddie chases after Theo who is definitely travelling with the ball. He manages to snag it from Theo, exaggerating his triumph and flicks it over his shoulder. The ball misses by a good mile. Theo giggles and runs after it.
“Ooh, and a bad shot by Diaz,” Buck calls out, holding his glass of lemonade like a microphone. “One must ask if this is truly the end of his career.”
When Theo’s back is turned, Eddie flips him the bird and Buck cackles. It’s such a shame Chris had school today. They could have tag-teamed ribbing Eddie together.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, Eddie walks towards Buck—stalks him, more like. He places his hands on his hips. “Why don’t you join us?”
“Nah, I’m perfectly happy here.”
Eddie cocks his head, tousled hair flopping against his forehead. “What’re you scared of losing to a four year old?”
Buck wrinkles his nose; that’s not going to work on him this time. That magnetic cocky attitude. He doesn’t notice himself placing down his drink, pre-preparing to stand. “I’d crush the both of you, don’t deny it.”
Eddie’s grin fails to mask his skepticism. His sarcastic tone doesn’t help either. “Oh, I’m sure.”
“You asked for it.” Buck hauls himself off the stoop. When Theo sees him joining the ‘fun,’ he races toward him, excitedly yammering about basketball probably. Buck is too focused on Eddie’s smug face to register. He ruffles Theo’s sweaty hair—bathtime is going to be a bitch tonight, he just knows. “We’re going to bring Eddie down a peg, okay?”
Theo clearly doesn’t understand what that means but he matches Buck’s serious enthusiasm anyways. “Yeah! We’ll crush Eddie!”
Buck turns his smile at Eddie. “That’s the spirit.”
It becomes a one-on-one game by the end. Theo quickly loses interest in the competition, electing to draw chalk caricatures of them or renaissance portraits, depending on how you look at it. The hoop is small enough that Buck can use his whole body to block all of it. Eddie can’t find an opening. The ball hits the pavement as he lunges only for Buck to foil his attempt. He can read Eddie like a well-loved book, spine creased and pages dog-earred.
Eddie darts backwards before they collide. “Don’t bust my ankle this time, Buckley,” he huffs.
“One time,” Buck mutters, but he knows he wouldn’t do something like that now. Not when Eddie’s attention is already locked on him, no distractions—besides the occasional check-in on the resident four year old.
The next time Eddie makes a break for it, Buck grabs him by the waist, wraps his arms around his body, not hugging really, just holding, in a wild, impulsive move to stop Eddie from catching an opening. Eddie’s momentum causes them to spin together before settling, basketball between them. Frozen, Eddie stares, motionless except for blinking and breathing. The beat of his heart pounds hard enough that it reaches to where Buck lays his hands flat on Eddie’s back. His chest brushes Buck’s own whenever he breathes out.
“That’s a dirty, illegal move,” Eddie eventually comments, voice rough from exertion. His body slides against Buck’s as he tosses the ball over Buck’s head. It swishes into the net, bouncing and rolling across the drive before resting on the lawn. “I win.” He smirks again, and then absently over his shoulder, he calls out, “Theo, we won!” His gaze stays forever trained on Buck.
Theo cheers but remains invested in turning the driveway into a Jackson Pollock painting.
“Theo was on my team,” Buck argues.
“He was secretly on my team. We made a pact before you joined.”
“Traitors. In my own house.” Buck sighs. “Chris would never do such a thing to me.”
With his hands now free, Eddie rests them on Buck’s arms. His fingers curl around his biceps, tapping inane beats against his bare skin. Eddie’s hands are warm and sweaty from the stupidly intense game of Buck’s least favorite sport. He doesn’t mind one bit.
Eddie laughs. “How can I make it up to you?”
Stay. Never leave. “Buy the good beer next time.”
“I do buy the good beer.”
“Then you have shi—stupid taste in beer, Eddie.” Buck shakes his head. “I shouldn’t be surprised, with your stupid taste in sports after all. Which you corrupted Theo with; hate you for that a little, by the way.”
“You and Chris have your thing; me and Theo have ours.”
They do, don’t they? Like a true family unit. His stomach twists at the sudden thought. “I’m glad he has that with you,” Buck admits. After the immense hardship Theo has been through recently, Buck is happy to know Theo has more than just him, that he has Eddie and Chris, and the entire 118 if need be.
Eddie’s expression softens. “You’re doing great with him, you know. He’s adjusted well.”
Buck ducks his head, unsure. “I guess.”
Eddie grabs his face, refusing to let him hide, and he waits until Buck makes eye contact with him. “Hey,” Eddie coaxes, gentle and quiet, “You’re a wonderful foster parent. Don’t doubt yourself.”
Buck allows a soft smile to tug at his mouth. He doesn’t even register that he is still holding onto Eddie, not really. Eddie, for his part, hasn’t moved either. His grip seems to tighten the longer they stay linked together. He quirks his mouth; his lips part.
“Are you two going to kiss?” Theo asks with all the naive innocence in the world, appearing before them as if summoned by magic.
Ripping himself away from Eddie, Buck almost stumbles backwards into the basketball hoop. His face burns, a white hot sear. What the hell. He needs to put a bell on that kid stat.
"You expect me to forget about the fact that you just kissed me?!"
"Yes!"
"Eddie!"
Buck knocked on the bedroom door again, to no avail. Sighing deeply, Buck closed his eyes and slumped forward against the locked door, unwittingly replaying the last few minutes in his mind.
He truly did not see it coming. And with the way Eddie was acting, it didn't seem like he was expecting to kiss Buck either.
They were at Buck's new place, testing out recipes for his big housewarming dinner scheduled a couple of days away. Buck had been struggling to pick a menu, overwhelmed with vastness of the choices available to him (from his own repertoire and online) and the pressure to make it perfect for everyone. It was going to be their first real family dinner following months of gloom and Buck had taken the initiative for once. With Eddie (and Chris) back and Bobby better and Mara officially adopted and the Hans having welcomed their son into the world, it was time they had a positive gathering. A celebration.
Except, two hours into researching and planning had found him inundated with a myriad ideas and no hope of narrowing them down. So, he'd done what he should have done in the first place — accepted Eddie's standing offer to help.
Eddie had turned up and converted his haphazard concepts into a concrete list. And together, they had accomplished a lot in a half hour, managing to shortlist Buck's recipes based on his ability to make them and the time it took to cook it all.
"Alright. This sounds amazing, Buck! If you do a trial run now, you won't be nervous about how the newer recipes will turn out on the day."
"Yeah, you're right."
"So, which one do you want to start with?"
"None of them."
"Excuse me?"
Buck ducked his head, shy with what he was about to admit. "I... actually have another recipe I want to try out first."
Eddie frowned. "Okay? Why didn't you write it down?"
"Because it's Pepa's Queso fundido."
Eddie's mouth parted in surprise. "What?"
"Yeah," Buck rubbed at the back of his neck, chuckling nervously. "I called her before you got here to get some ideas and she told me about it. It sounds really easy to make and Pepa said it was your favourite dish growing up, so that pretty much sealed the deal. I was going to surprise you with it."
"You were?" Eddie asked, still looking a little stunned.
"Yeah, but I can't anymore," he groaned, pouting at his friend. "I really don't want to cook it for the first time on the day and we're on shift tomorrow, so today is the only time I can trial it. I'm just annoyed the surprise is ruined."
"Buck," Eddie breathed, stepping up to him, hand on his shoulder. "I promise any queso fundir you make will be a surprise even if I'm standing next to you the whole time. You haven't ruined anything."
Buck grinned at him. "Yeah?"
"Yeah," Eddie reassured him, matching his smile.
"Okay then! Time for some chopping! But you're not allowed to do anything because this is still a surprise."
"Buck. C'mon, it'll go by faster if I do some of the chopping. Or even the grating! If this is my Tia's recipe, then I know there's a monstrous amount of cheese involved."
"... fine. But only because I hate grating."
Soon, the sounds of prep floated through the air in Buck's new kitchen. Buck started chopping the veggies while Eddie took over grating the three types of cheese involved. It was quiet until Eddie chuckled, seemingly out of nowhere.
"What?" Buck asked curiously.
"Just... this takes me back," Eddie explained, eyes alight with memory.
"Oh yeah?"
"I was stuck with the grating back then too. Sophia used to say I had to do the 'yucky' job since I was the oldest and Adri was too young to do more than hand her the ingredients as she cooked." Eddie shook his head fondly, his smile turning sweeter. "I loved it anyway. It was a simple yet delicious dish we could make whenever and it meant we could have as many tortilla chips as we wanted. And believe me, we ate a concerning amount."
"That amazing, Eds."
"Hmm. It was one of the best times I spent with them."
After the initial prep was done, Eddie was delegated to sit on the counter whilst Buck busted out the iron skillet.
"You sure I don't need to stick this in the oven? I didn't want to believe it when Pepa said I didn't really need to, but you get that crispy top with it."
Eddie smiled, rolling his eyes good-naturedly. "Yes, Buck, no oven necessary. It's just as amazing without."
Once Buck had checked that all the cheese had melted into that pleasing stretchy consistency and switched off the stove, he added the pico de gallo garnish and reached for a spoon.
"Sorry, I don't have any chips to hand right now," he said, carefully scooping up a portion and twisting the spoon to get all the cheese, "but tell me what you think."
Eddie inclined closer wordlessly and wrapped his mouth around the utensil, his eyes never straying from Buck's face. They lit up as he proceeded to chew.
"Good?" Buck asked tentatively.
Still chewing, Eddie opted to smile broadly and nod.
"Good," Buck sighed out, relieved, moving to taste it himself. "I think this will be a good alternative for your usual dips. And who doesn't love tortilla chips, right?"
There was no answer.
Buck was too busy taking a bite to notice. "Mmmf, you weren't kidding. I'd want to eat unhealthy amounts of this, too. No wonder it's your favourite, Eds, I don't think I can stop making this now."
"Yeah."
Buck was being hauled forward then, his chin tipped up as soft lips pressed to his. The spoon dropped the floor as his fingers slackened with surprise, the metal clattering noisily on the tile below.
Buck's eyes dropped shut as he melted into it after a moment, kissing back gently, hands coming up to frame Eddie's face. But as he tried to angle their lips and deepen the kiss, Eddie ripped himself away, his eyes wide with panic and shock.
"Eddie..." Buck murmured, his mind finally catching up and sending his heart racing. His best friend had just kissed him.
However, Eddie didn't reply, hopping off the counter and sprinting out of the kitchen. There was the distinct sound of a door slamming shut by the time Buck managed to pry his feet off the floor and trail after him.
"That's my bedroom!"
"So?"
"You can't hide in there forever!"
"Watch me!"
"What about Chris, Eddie? You gonna leave him to his own devices?"
"I've had a good run being his father. It's your turn now!"
Buck choked out an incredulous laugh, feeling slightly ridiculous shouting at a door. Did he unknowingly step through the Looking Glass with Alice?
"I will break down this door, man, new house be damned."
Silence rang out from the other side. Buck decided that he'd wait about twenty seconds before he'd follow through on his promise.
He'd counted down to five when the lock finally clicked.
The door creaked open to reveal a red faced Eddie, biting his lip, eyes cast to the floor. "I don't know why I did that," he whispered.
Buck shuffled forward carefully, stopping when their feet touched. "Do you regret it?" he asked, voice hushed. That was the only real question at the moment. They could figure out everything else.
Eddie didn't meet his eyes. His head shook side to side.
Exhaling slowly, Buck closed the last of the distance, gathering Eddie into his arms. It was slow, but Eddie embraced him back, nestling into him with a sigh.
"I think I got it wrong, why Queso fundido is my favourite."
"Yeah?" Buck hummed, palm gently soothing up and down Eddie's back.
"I think I like the process of making it more than just eating it."
"Why's that?"
Eddie pulled back from his chest then, finally looking him in the eye. His cheeks were still flushed prettily and there was a cute little smile adorning his lips.
"Because making it always meant that I get to spend time with the ones I love."
Buck made a pleased sound, his lips splitting open in a blinding grin as he tilted forward to nudge his nose with Eddie's and rest against his forehead.
He closed his eyes, letting out a dreamy sigh.
"I think that's the perfect reason to call anything your most favourite thing in the world."
"Hey, Buck, guess you're out on a call. Should've known. Bell probably rang the moment I dropped my last fare off. Anyway, just calling to check in. Hope it's an easy one! Call me back when you get a chance."
"Hey, Buck. You would not believe the ride I just had. Had to take them all the way up to Mesquite. Dead silence the whole time. And they weren't even on their phone! Whatever. It was an extortionate fee, thank God. And they tipped pretty well, but I was bored out of my mind. Hope you're having more fun than me. Call me back."
"Goddamn, you're busy today. Ravi say quiet again? Go easy on the kid. He can't be blamed for your crazy superstitions. Be safe. And call me!"
"Hey, Buck, hope you're doing okay. You've been MIA for hours, and I'm not above admitting I'm a little worried. Got my fingers crossed it's a bunch of fender benders. Nothing big. Just let me know you're good, okay? Even if it's just texting me an emoji from the back of the truck."
"Buck, come on, man. Jesus, I feel crazy. I don't think we've gone this long without speaking since I got out here. Chris has been making fun of me all night for being glued to my phone. Says I'm worse than his friend Jason waiting for Miley to text him back. Like I'm some lovesick teenager. Um. Anyway... Please just let me know you're okay. I'm worried sick over here."
"So many fucking voicemails and I just realised you won't even be able to listen to them if you're that busy. I feel like an idiot. I'm gonna hang up and text you. Please ignore my spiralling when you get home. God, you probably think something's wrong. Fuck. Idiot. We're fine. Everything's fine. I just miss you. Anyway."
Hey, Buck, ignore my voicemails. Nothing's wrong! Everything's fine, I'm just worried about you.
it's the middle of the night and they've got a shift in the morning and Buck's going on about Homer may not have been a historical figure and the idea of authorship didn't exist for epic oral traditions the same way it does for modern texts (because they saw The Odyssey on their day off)
and Eddie's like "Buck buck buck" with his face all scrunched up and Buck's like "what? stop talking?"
and Eddie's just "you don't have to stop talking but you do have to keep moving"
and Buck's brain flips a tab over because right right, Eddie's legs are around his waist and he's balls deep inside and they're in the middle of fucking
Buck hesitates, hands stalled where he had been chopping vegetables when his phone rang. He’d been so startled by the caller ID he hadn’t even set the knife down, putting the phone on speaker in a mild panic, immediately concerned someone was dead or dying.
He certainly wasn’t expecting a dinner invitation.
“Uh, s-sure, yeah, I’d love to. Thanks Athena,” he answers at last, only slightly more delayed than what’s probably considered normal.
Athena makes an amused little sound. “You’re welcome. Invite that boy of yours, will you? I don’t have his number saved.”
Buck blinks. “Uh, Tommy? We—broke up a long time ago. Even before, um.”
Bobby, he doesn’t say. It stings anyway, friction fizzling down the invisible phone line between them. He and Athena haven’t talked about Bobby, not really. He doesn’t think either of them know how; they were the last two witnesses to Bobby’s final moments, and he’s not sure where he stands in her life anymore.
Athena takes a moment before she responds with a familiar sigh. “Not him. Eddie.”
Heat floods his cheeks. He puts down the knife, now clenched painfully in his hand, the word yours thumping in his ears with every heartbeat. “I can ask him, yeah. But I’m not—we’re not—it’s not like that.”
“Like what?” Athena asks, dry as ever and clearly done with this conversation.
He’s not mine, he almost says. Even opens his mouth to say exactly that before shutting it, sick somehow at the idea of saying it out loud, of making it true. Even if it is.
“We’re not… we’re just not like that.”
Athena sighs, using her no nonsense tone when she speaks. “You’re Buck and Eddie. The last two peas of this dysfunctional little pod, and I would like you both to come over for dinner on Friday. That’s all I’m asking here, okay?”
Buck swallows, throat bone-dry. “Sure, yeah. Of course.”
“Good. Call him.”
“Right, yeah. I will. Bye Athena.”
Athena’s already hung up before he finishes the sentence.
It’s awhile before Buck manages to actually make the call. He finishes prepping his dinner in a sort of trance, carefully thinking of nothing but the next step of the recipe. He cooks, and doesn’t even put on music or a podcast to kill the silence. He eats in the same strangely dissociative mindset until he finds himself at the sink with soaking dishes and almost no memory of eating. Eddie’s the one who gave him the recipe, one of his abuela’s that he used to make all the time when Buck would come over. Buck had never made it on his own before, and now he won’t even be able to tell Eddie how it tasted.
He leaves the dishes in the sink, half done, and picks up his phone with a soapy hand.
“Hey,” Eddie answers on the third ring. The sound of his voice sort of makes him want to cry, and he presses his lips together.
“Buck? You there?”
Buck startles—it’s been a good fifteen seconds since Eddie picked up and he’s said nothing. “Yeah, sorry.”
“You okay?”
“Um, yeah,” Buck replies. He sits at his dining table and scrubs his free hand down his face, then back up to fist in his hair. “Hey, I need to ask you something.”
Eddie laughs. “Okay… you’re not asking to borrow money are you? Because I still haven’t sold the house in El Paso yet. Thinking of selling my plasma if it doesn’t sell soon. Or a kidney.”
Buck chuckles, and his hand relaxes slightly. “Yeah, no I know, I’m not—it’s not that.”
“Okay, shoot.”
He doesn’t know why he says it. Maybe a tiny, vindictive part of him just wants to prove to himself and everyone that he’s right, that there’s nothing more between him and Eddie, because there can’t be. Maybe he just needs to hear the rejection outright to nip this whole thing in the bud, even if a small part of him is beginning to realize it will kill him.
Or maybe he’s just lost his mind.
“Do you want to go to dinner with me?”
He exhales hard, and waits. It’s out, the ball in Eddie’s court, thrust in his direction with the subtlety of a crashing meteor. Buck clamps his trembling lips shut; he can hear the soft sound of running water on Eddie’s end behind his quiet breathing, deafening in the silence. His phone is pressed so hard to his ear it’ll be bright red and hot when he hangs up.
Eddie’s quiet for a long time, long enough that Buck knows he didn’t misunderstand the question. The water shuts off, and Buck braces.
“Buck,” Eddie says, a little hoarse. “I didn’t think you... are—are you—”
“Sorry, I-I mean—that came out weird, ha,” Buck interrupts, pounding his stupid forehead with his fist. He’s a coward, he’s such a fucking coward. “Athena’s having a thing. Dinner, at her house, and sh-she wanted me to invite you, so uh. Do you want to go? Together? I can drive, if. If you want, I mean.”
Silence again. It’s painful, worse than Eddie yelling at him, worse than watching him drive away in the rain. He feels it keenly, every second passing like an eon.
“When?” Eddie asks at last, flat and unreadable.
“Friday. We’re off shift, so it should be—yeah.”
Another silence, shorter but just as agonizing. “Yeah, sounds good. Let’s go together. Still haven’t seen her new place, have you?”
Buck exhales. Eddie’s voice is clipped and carefully neutral but the olive branch is there, outstretched for Buck to take it and change the subject before he fucks everything up in an irrevocable way.
“N-no,” Buck replies eventually. “I haven’t.”
“Cool.”
“Yeah, um. Pick you up at six-thirty?”
“Okay. I’ll see if Pepa can stay with Chris. He’ll insist he doesn’t need a babysitter, but it’ll make me feel better.”
Buck makes some sort of sound, a facsimile of a laugh. “Yeah, mister fifteen and independent.”
“Don’t remind me.”
Buck smiles and picks at a spot of sauce on his table, dried and crusting. It gets under his nail, red like blood. Eddie doesn’t say anything more, but he doesn’t hang up either.
“I uh. I made your abuela’s picadillo,” Buck says.
“Tonight?”
“Yeah.”
Eddie hums. “How was it?”
“Not as good as yours,” Buck admits.
“You remembered the carrots?”
“Yeah, I did. It just—it wasn’t the same.”
“Hers was better than mine,” Eddie says with a little sniff. The ache in Buck’s chest grows; he doesn’t think it’ll ever fade now.
“That’s true. But yours is great, Eddie. Almost as good as hers.”
Eddie chuckles, small and wet. “Well. Invite me over next time then, and I’ll make it for you.”
Buck presses his fist into his forehead so hard it hurts. It doesn’t help contain the things trying to escape, things left buried for so long and so deep they’re like a sentient being, begging for release. They’re so close to being unleashed, so close to razing his life to the ground.
“Yeah, I-I should. I will,” Buck promises.
“Good. See you Friday, Buck.”
“Yeah. See you.”
The imprint of his fingers bloom red like claw marks.
Two mornings, technically, the early summer sun just starting to make the room grow gold.
Almost two weeks, if you count the week and a half spent actually trying to switch off sleeping on the couch. Ten days before they had to sit down and admit that they were, in fact, in their thirties, and the couch was not meant to hold anyone who was six-foot-anything, and it was only going to be temporary, right?
So Eddie had claimed the side closest to the door and they tested how loud Buck’s 1000 Facts for Sleep and Relaxation videos could be before it was too much and they just. Shared the bed.
And that next morning, far too early for a day off, the first signs of dawn just starting to creep in, Buck had woken up with a line of heat along his back and an arm around his waist and Eddie nuzzling against him, nose behind his ear.
“Uh,” he had said, stupidly, every muscle in his body suddenly tense. “Eddie,” he had hissed, shoving an elbow behind him and right into his solar plexus.
Eddie had grunted and then tensed as well, frozen in place, still pressed against him.
“Comfortable?” Buck had joked, or tried to at least, suddenly finding it hard to breathe.
And Eddie was silent for a moment, actually considering the question, and answered, “Yeah, actually.”
And then he had pressed his mouth against the shell of his ear, lips pursed dramatically, and kissed him with an exaggerated ‘Mwah.’ Then he laughed, and with a last gentle squeeze around his middle, he had rolled over and gone back to sleep.
And Buck had laughed too, tension gone, and he snuggled himself down into a cooler part of his pillow. When he woke a few hours later, Eddie was already up and gone.
It happened again, the next morning. Eddie Diaz, human furnace, plastered against him. Buck’s shirt had ridden up in the night, and Eddie’s arm was tight around his stomach, skin to skin. And once again, his face was pressed against his neck, pressing harder with every small movement of his head. And then, soft and gentle, he had kissed him, right at the base of his neck, the start of his spine.
And Buck broke. Cracked like an egg, exposing the tender, gooey core of him.
It would be so easy, he thought, to turn in the cage of Eddie’s arms and kiss him for real. Sweep his tongue into his mouth, rake his fingers down his spine, through his hair. Let himself be the one to nuzzle into Eddie’s neck this time, suck a mark there, watch him try to hide it for the rest of the day.
Push him back onto the mattress.
Take their clothes off.
Meanwhile, as Buck spiraled, Eddie had slowly woken up, quietly laughed to himself at finding them here, again, then rolled out of bed to be the first to claim the bathroom for the day.
Buck had rolled into the spot hie had left, still warm like the sun, and stared at the ceiling, and thought about how royally fucked he was.
The thing he should have done was move back to the couch. Double down on his house hunt. Hell, get back on the apps and find someone who actually wanted to cuddle him when they’re conscious. It wouldn’t solve the overall problem of, Oops, in love with Eddie, but it sure wouldn’t hurt.
But Buck is selfish, apparently, and did none of the above.
And it keeps happening. Of course it does. Not every morning, but most. And sometimes Eddie’s head is pillowed on his chest, burrowing his face between his pecs as he starts to wake. And sometimes, Buck gets to be the big spoon, gets to let himself hold and pretend and breathe him in before he notices.
But most mornings it’s Eddie tight against his back, strong arms pulling him close, knee slotted between his own, ankles hooked together. Mouth hot against his curls, his shoulders, his neck. Not always a kiss, but sometimes. Sometimes two! Those are the really lucky days.
And when Eddie wakes, he laughs, a low private laugh to say, oh, this again, before it’s back to sleep or up and at ’em, depending on the day.
And that’s it. They never talk about it. Even though it keeps happening.
Years of the army and parenthood and 8AM shifts means Eddie automatically wakes at ass-o-clock in the morning, even if it’s just to shrug and go back to sleep. So Buck’s now waking up just those few moments earlier. He needs the time to tamp down his anticipation, take control of his breathing, get his body to stay liquid in Eddie’s arms.
He doesn’t want to think about what would happen if Eddie knew he was awake.
And, oh, this morning Buck wakes up to find Eddie’s just completely shoved his arm up under his shirt, a hot line across his body ending in a hand curled loosely against his chest. His nose is buried in the crook of his shoulder, lips parted, breath leaving a damp spot on the back of his tee-shirt.
Buck starts from his toes and gets every muscle to relax, to melt back into the mattress, into Eddie. He keeps his breathing slow, a little shallow. And he waits.
Soon enough, he feels the slightest increase in pressure against his shoulder, a deep inhale as Eddie starts to stir. Eddie’s toes point and stretch, rubbing against the back of Buck’s calves. His hand uncurls, rests flat against his chest.
Eddie’s head moves slightly, still breathing deeply though his nose, and there, right where the collar his Buck’s shirt turns to skin, he presses his mouth, soft and sweet.
He shifts again, and there, higher up the back of his neck, where his hair starting to thicken. More pressure, lips pursed, a real kiss this time.
Two today, Buck thinks. Lucky me.
He waits for Eddie to wake further, for his soft chuckle as he tries to untangle himself.
But instead… again, there, right at his hair line, complete with a soft little sound from the pressure of his breath.
And again, again, small pecks until Eddie’s mouth is pressed against the shell of his ear, like the first time, that first morning. It’s not a joke this time, not exaggerated but tender. Real.
Buck knows he should do something, should stop this, but can’t bring himself to do it. Because this is the last time it’s going to happen, probably, once Eddie’s fully awake, once he knows what he’s done.
Right on cue, Eddie slides his mouth down, a few more kisses down his neck, lips parted, a trail of saliva in his wake. And then he stops. Mouth still firm against his skin, breathing still deep. Like he’s waiting.
The hand against his chest shifts, cupping his pec, palm flat against his nipple.
The other place he can feel his heart beat right now, Buck realizes. The heart beat he can do nothing to prevent from going crazy at the very first touch.
“Um,” Buck says, caught out, and the only thing he can think to say is a tentative, “Eddie?”
“Buck,” Eddie says, directly into his skin. It’s muffled, obviously, but clear and firm. Not half-asleep. Not unaware.
“Wha- what are you doing?” Buck chokes out.
Eddie’s silent for a moment, actually considering the question, and answers, “Indulging myself.”
And he kisses him again, right against his pulse. And again, lips parted, wet and sucking. And again.
And again.
The hand on his pec shifts, and now his thumb is gently circling his nipple. Eddie’s whole body shifts, pressing their hips together, and Buck can’t hold back a gasp.
Then Eddie speaks again, rough and low, lips wet against his earlobe.
“You didn’t text me that you made it home safe,” Eddie says, instead of anything reasonable. Instead of an embarrassed sorry I walked in on you jerking off, instead of an angry you just said my name while you were jerking off. Because Buck had, had definitely let Eddie’s name take up residence in his mouth as he’d rutted his hips into his fist under the blanket.
Eddie shuts the bedroom door behind him.
Buck’s head is spinning. He doesn’t have any blood flow to his brain, he’s sure of it. It’s not in his dick anymore, so why isn’t it going back to his brain?
All he can do is blink at Eddie, a gorgeous, terrifying vision in the lamplight.
“I called,” Eddie says. His eyes stay on Buck’s face, flushed and sweaty. “Guess you were busy.”
And, okay. Blood is back in his dick. That’s where it is.
Buck, who seemingly doesn’t know when to stop, turns to Hen next.
“Oh no,” she says immediately. “No, no, no. Don’t.”
“Hen, I need help,” Buck insists. “Eddie picked me up and it was hot. Then Ravi did it and it wasn’t. I just wanna know if it’s the lift that’s hot, or if it’s—” he gestures vaguely toward Eddie’s retreating back, “that man specifically who scrambles my brain like a microwave burrito.”
Hen squints at him. “Let me get this straight—”
“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Chimney mutters from the floor.
Hen ignores him. “—you want me, a married lesbian, to pick you up so you can measure how horny it does or doesn’t make you?”
Buck nods, all confidence and zero shame. “Exactly.”
Hen shrugs. “Fuck it. Let’s do it.”
Chim makes a strangled noise of betrayal.
Hen walks over, braces herself, and says, “Arms up, sweetheart. Let Mama Hen carry your confused ass to Jesus.”
